


Coda Memoriam

by Auraki



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A hint of fluff, Angst, Dreaming, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Funeral, Ghosts, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pining, Reylo Fanfiction Anthology, Tissues required, body switch, dark rituals, sedatives, time skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2018-12-22 01:40:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11957028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auraki/pseuds/Auraki
Summary: Force bonds are forever, and neither death nor Darkness will stand in her way. | Written for the Reylo Fanfiction Anthology.This is all happening too fast; the precautions she’d taken, the ones that were supposed to ensure her safety in case something went wrong with the ritual, have been decimated with one tiny flex of his power.





	Coda Memoriam

**Author's Note:**

> Something a little different from me, in tone & style. A little nervous actually, lol, about how this will be received. In case you didn't know, the theme for this issue of the Reylo Fanfiction Anthology is Celebrations...I think it will be apparent which celebration I chose by the end. ;)

  
She had once been a creature of sun, heat, and sand. Enduring, like a chip of iron forged by dire elemental pressures. The desert had always been a living thing to her, more real than the pride-stripping power of Unkar Plutt or the hungry eyes of the other scavengers. The desert cared not for the hopes and dreams of a lone girl seeking shelter within its dunes. It had done its best to break her. The desert had waged war against her very existence. Every battle had left her stronger, harder than before. And when she finally escaped it, Rey had thought that nothing could ever be so cruel as the vengeful desert she had left behind.

But that was before she found the other half of her soul.  
  


* * *

  
  
Moonlight floods the room, limning the metallic edges of the chair resting against the cottage's central support beam. The chair is the only piece of furniture not crammed into the adjoining room. Rey kneels before it amidst a scatter of small crates, packaging, and several deactivated holocrons. 

The slim handle of her pocket welder is caught between her teeth as she concentrates on caulking quick-dry sealant around one of the chair's legs with a speed born of repetition. A swift blast of heat from her welder and the resin polymers in the substance bubble and harden to a sturdiness worthy of the Falcon. Satisfied, Rey repeats the process on the other three legs, welding the chair to the slick thermocrete floor. She's not worried about permanent damage, as her deposit became void the moment she swung her mini-sledge into the cottage’s east-facing wall.

She swipes a forearm across her brow, the heat of her work evident in the flush in her cheeks and the damp on her neck. This planet’s cursed humidity has made a joke of the tolerance she'd built up over the years in the desert. Ahch-To had been just as miserable, but Rey had been too preoccupied to let it faze her then. She can ignore it well enough now; besides, once she's done, she plans to wash the grime away in the cottage's posh little 'fresher, after she's laid out her clothing for the evening.

The silky garments purchased from one of Corsucant's most exclusive vendors are darker and tighter than she's ever worn before. It makes her wish she'd retained that small bit of roundness that had predictably cropped up with regular meals. When he'd been alive, Kylo had made the regular feeding and watering of his chosen mate a priority, once the grim memories of her childhood revealed themselves through their Force bond. It had turned him into a relentless provider and, under Kylo's watch, Rey had never missed a meal. But when he died, Rey let grief drain the supple glow from her cheeks, unmasking the leaner dips and hollows of harder times. A wasting return to the whip-thin scavenger she had been, surviving rather than living. A wraith, forced to venture out into the light of day.

She stands, testing the chair’s immobility with a firm shove of her palm, flinching as the impact resonates up her arm. With a dull clatter, she tosses the pocket welder to the floor and moves over to the black crate that she’d taken pains to carry in by hand. She’d handled the rest of her supplies with some brief Force levitation, but this particular piece required special care. 

Prizing it open with slender fingers, she stares down at the three objects nestled within. They couldn’t be more different from one another in shape and size, but the eerily similar crimson inlays and gold embellishments glinting in the moonlight betray their origins. Rey removes the two smaller items from the crate and rummages briefly within the package that contains her carefully wrapped garments. Along with the dress from Corsucant, she’d had the foresight to purchase a matching handbag, though it is more delicate and feminine than she would have ever chosen in the past. She tucks the objects into the bag, and as an afterthought, fishes her lightsaber from her satchel to join them. 

The remaining object is larger and trapezoidal, heavy in her hand. The hole she’d smashed into the cottage wall before sunset is just large enough to accommodate the object’s size, and she spends some time now adjusting its positioning so that the red, gaudy gem sunken into its front panel is aimed directly at the chair she’s welded to the floor. 

It’s while she’s busy with this that she feels a familiar, insistent tugging on the fabric of her soul. Where she had never hesitated to acknowledge it before, she stalls now by fiddling with the angle of the object one more time. Eventually though, there is nothing left to adjust and she exhales softly into the empty room. But it’s not really empty, not anymore. 

“It’s useless, you know,” she calls out quietly over her shoulder, a sigh in her voice. “It’s practically done now.” Rey turns and regards the somber, pale blue entity standing near the open window. 

His incorporeal form is shot through with moonlight, but he still cuts such a striking figure: all broad shoulders, trim waist, and dark, brooding gaze. There had been a time when such a visage engendered fear and uncertainty, but now she can decipher the nuances of his stance, the set of his jaw...the tinge of resignation in those dark, dark eyes. Her Force-bonded soulmate is disappointed in her. 

Rey is nothing but stubborn though. “You can’t dissuade me now, not when I’ve come this far.” 

Not a whisper of answering sound breaks the air, but she watches Kylo’s transparent chest hitch as he grimaces and looks away; a silent huff of displeasure, if she’s ever seen one. Involuntarily, her fingers curl into her palms, annoyance clamouring to the forefront. 

“Look, you can be angry at me later. You can _tell_ me how angry you are, later. But I’m going through with this. If there’s any chance at all, I need to _try_. You know that you’d do the same.” 

Kylo’s long face returns to regard her, and though his resignation is obvious now, she also sees acknowledgement of her words. Had their positions been reversed, they both knew that no boundary existed that he wouldn’t cross. Strange that she needs to remind him of this, but she realizes that her previously living other half is simply looking out for her eternal soul. 

She doesn’t have time for this prick of conscience now, but it pains her to see such a look in his eyes. Her heart aches with it. 

“One time, I promise,” she says, willing him to ease the tightness in her chest with understanding. Seconds tick by, their gazes locked in a circuitous conduit of emotion before she finally sees his chin dip in agreement. 

“Just once,” she assures him again, before he fades into the moonlight, the cool shadows closing behind him.

She had better get going.  
  


* * *

  
  
From her vantage point, Rey can see all the way to the far side of the cantina. 

The Force ghost standing beside her table stares blankly into the noisy froth of patrons, his back to the wall and arms crossed against his broad, translucent chest. She isn’t entirely certain what he makes of them all, but the distaste curling his upper lip gives her an idea. In life, Kylo Ren had never been the type to find comfort in crowds. 

Her table is tucked away in a corner, sharing space with an ill-placed column. She watches the crowd filter in and out of the cantina for the better part of an hour, surreptitiously dumping portions of her exotic cocktail into a nearby planter to avoid the harried waitstaff’s notice. She rebuffs exactly four advances of male attention in the time that she’s there. Whether she has her solitary state or tight-fitting clothing to thank, she isn’t sure, but whatever the reason, it gives her confidence that her lure must be working. 

The first man to approach her was all swagger and smooth words, but he was not a suitable candidate for her purposes. He and his successors unfortunately share characteristics that disqualify them in her mind: too portly, too scaly, too aquamarine in color, too many limbs, too… ripe. Despite this, she begins to become impatient--and, honestly, a little worried--that she might have been too quick to send her admirers away. Her standards aren’t set exceedingly high, but she is beginning to suspect that they may be too high for this particular establishment. Maybe she’s not being aggressive enough. Maybe she needs to assert herself.

She scans the crowd again but sees no one looking her way. That means she can speak to her silent companion in peace without anyone questioning her sanity.

“I had hoped by now…” she trails off with a sigh, glancing up at him without turning. She finds his gaze already boring down on her and holds it for a few heartbeats before she looks back to the crowd before them. “Well, scavengers can’t be choosey, right? Although,” she amends with a small scoff, “I hope you know that’s utter, kriffin’ nonsense. Whoever came up with that saying clearly never scavenged a day in their lives.”

The din of clinking glasses, laughter, and vapid conversation is her only response. More than the trailing caresses or the warm, heady smell of him, she misses the sound of Kylo’s voice most of all. In the five years since he lost his life, Rey had learned to be content with allusive looks and fleeting smiles, stoic benevolence and silent, vigilant companionship. She endured it, like one endures the desert sun miles away from home.

“I’m sure you’re dying to give me an earful right now. I mean, if you weren’t already...Anyway, I know this isn’t the best choice in locations, but it’s the best I could do on short notice. And fortunately the kinds of people who come here won’t be terribly missed.” The casual callousness of her words suddenly registers and it causes her to drop her head in shame. “Maker, that sounds so terrible out loud…” 

Rey chances another glance at her Force-bound specter, convinced that she’ll see that heartbreaking glimmer of judgment in his eyes again. To her surprise, he’s not looking at her at all. Rather, he’s staring at something ahead, wearing an uncharacteristically perplexed frown. She follows his line of sight but doesn’t see anyone noteworthy; there are patrons milling about, clogging the narrow pathways around the bar, seated shoulder to shoulder on trendy, uncomfortable stools. There are men and women here of every shade, flavor, and species it seems, but that was typical for a waypoint planet near a major asteroid mining belt.

She’s about to ask what has him so absorbed--fruitless as it is--when she hears a deep male voice cut through the boisterous murmur of the cantina. 

“Ugh! Are you serious?” 

Rey isn’t able to pinpoint its whereabouts until she sees a brassy blond head rising above the others, punctuated by the crash of a stool hitting the floor. Between passing patrons she can see the epicenter of commotion: a table swarming with men and women in muted green jumpsuits and orange vests. 

She squints to get a better look at the table’s occupants and her breath catches when she recognizes the red embroidered seal of the First Order on the arm of one. She’d missed the group earlier because they hadn’t been nearly as clamorous as the off-duty bounty hunters at the table in front of them. Now that she has eyes on them, the jumpsuits and gear-vests tell her that they’re likely a group of mechanics on leave away from base. Which base she isn’t sure, as she’d lost interest in the Resistance’s top secret intel years ago, when her priorities had… changed. 

The blond man, who is clearly tall enough to tower over most of the patrons, still has his back to her as his hands gesture angrily at a grim-looking Besalisk, but she can see a dark stain discoloring the material of his jumpsuit where it stretches across the broad width of his shoulders. The Besalisk hisses loudly but stomps away, leaving the remaining man to stare after him in helpless anger. Rey can just see the curve of the man’s jaw from this angle, but something odd strikes her at that moment. Something elusive and familiar all at once. 

The minute he turns in her direction, focused on some unknown point in the cantina, Rey feels her heartbeat stutter.

Annoyance is still twisting his features and that strange blond hair is falling messily onto his forehead, but his face…Rey’s head whips sideways, meeting the oddly piqued gaze of her companion. Her eyes sweep over the long lines of his face, the large nose, the stubborn chin, the high cheekbones...and then she turns back to regard the nearly identical stranger painted in colors from a different palette. 

“Fuck,” she utters disbelievingly, because it’s the only thing she can say. Because the coincidence is absurdly and significantly outrageous. 

She’s staring at a man who could be Kylo Ren’s identical twin, had his twin suffered a horrendous dye job and an assault by a rogue pair of hair shears. The height is even the same, but he doesn’t command the room the way Kylo used to, nor does he seem to have as much control over his own body. Rey watches him stumble over his own feet as he swipes up some disposable napkins from the bar and attempts to awkwardly reach over his own shoulder to pat himself dry of whatever liquid had stained the back of his jumpsuit. 

Eventually Kylo’s doppelganger turns away to climb back onto his abandoned stool, and Rey realizes that her fingernails are gouging the soft wood of the cantina table. With a deep, shaky breath, she tries to release the tension in her body, uncurling her fingers and relaxing her shoulders. But she can’t help the way the words rush out of her, or the smile that curls in the corner of her lips, when the thought occurs to her.

“The Force wants this…” Rey murmurs to herself, an edge of wonder coloring the words. She turns her head just enough to address her Force-bonded apparition and gives into the grin that breaks across her spare features, so wide that she feels the strain in her cheeks. He looks staggered, confused and a little dumbfounded. Not something that she would have ever attributed to a Force ghost, but Kylo had always broken the mold in the most intriguing ways. 

“All this time, I’ve been raking myself over coals, so unsure of myself and my purpose...but the Force wants this. I don’t even know how this is possible,” she said with a little laugh, “but if it’s not a sign, I don’t know what is. The Force wants us to be together, Kylo, even if it’s just for one night.”

The Force ghost of Kylo Ren meets her gaze once again, and she sees a familiar expression dawning on his face that she hasn’t observed since their days sparring from opposite sides of the Force: anticipation. Rey digs out the proper amount of credits from her stylish handbag to pay for her drink, then stands from the table, her eyes locked on a mop of wild blond hair and a neon orange gear-vest.  
  


* * *

  
  
He starts to stir as she’s securing his feet to the chair legs.

The bonds, purchased from an enterprising Toydarian, are tight; despite his size, she knows they won’t budge. Her quarry’s head is slumped and it appears he’s drooled onto the dull metal nameplate on the front of his vest, but she can see the muscles in his neck jumping and flexing as consciousness trickles back to him. 

She could use the Force to manipulate his brain waves and render him insensate again, but she isn’t sure how it might affect the ritual. That was why she had used a drug with short-term effects; after he’d been successfully lured away from the cantina and back to her rented cottage, she had only needed a few moments to levitate him into the chair and strap him down. 

A groan sounds from above her just as she finishes with the shackles. 

“Where are my glasses?” he slurs out. Matt. His name was Matt. She stands and takes a step back, waiting for his head to bob upwards. He squints one eye at her with his mouth dropped open in the most unattractive fashion, but his gaze finally zeroes in on her. “Roxy? Is that you?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s me. Roxy,” Rey affirms, reaching down to pick his glasses up from the ground where they’d fallen. She carefully places them back on Matt’s face as his head lists groggily from side to side. With his glasses on, he looks even less like Kylo Ren, but the grimace turning down the corners of his mouth is almost an identical match.

“Did you drug me? Is that why I feel like a Hutt sat on my face?” 

Rey immediately frowns at the implied imagery, but she’s surprised that he’s put things together so fast. She thinks about mincing words, but at this point in the evening there’s really no need.

“Yes. I did.” 

Matt’s large frame lifts and falls with the force of his exhale. “I see. Well, if you haven’t found them already, the credits are in the bottom of my left boot. If you would be so kind as to leave me a key or whatever before you skip planet, I’d really appreciate--”

“What?” Rey cuts in, bewildered by the direction the conversation is taking.

“Look, this isn’t my first robbery,” Matt responds with a long-suffering sigh. “I’m just grateful you didn’t use violence, or that Besalisk. _Maker_ , his breath was rank! You should really find better friends--”

“Hold on,” Rey interrupts again, at a loss. ”I’m not trying to rob you. I had nothing to do with that Besalisk spilling his drink on you.”

“But you _were_ watching me?” he asks, squinting at her accusingly from over the rims of his glasses. 

“I...yes.”

“Why?”

Now is the time to mince words, because to explain her scheme aloud would be the height of folly for someone who intends to disappear tomorrow without a trace. But he’s looking at her with such earnest curiosity, and now the similarities she’d identified in the cantina are becoming more apparent as she regards him head-on. The full bottom lip, the broad shoulders, the long limbs, the intensity of his gaze...

“Kriff on a cracker...you actually want me!” Matt blurts out suddenly, and Rey realizes that she’s been staring at him in a way that might have led him to that conclusion. It’s both a true and untrue assessment, but not for the reasons he thinks.

“Uh...not...not _that_ way. I need your body, but I don’t want _you_ ,” she tries to assure him. Though the knowing, presumptuous smile he levels at her makes her think she might be misunderstood. “Wait--” 

“No, it’s okay, I get it. You’re one of _those_ girls,” Matt says as if all the pieces to the puzzle are finally falling into place. “You just want to use me for my body. No names, no pasts, just raw, dirty, animal passion as you have your wicked way with me…” Rey cringes at the sheer amount of misinformation laden in his words, but then he finishes with, “and I’m telling you, it’s totally fine!”

She’s speechless at this point, but he keeps going with what he surely thinks is a smoldering expression on his long face.

“In fact, Roxy, I’ll be whatever you want tonight. _Use me_ ,” he insists with a disturbing leer. He struggles for a moment as he tries to flex his shoulders but is held back by the bonds securing him to the chair. “But wouldn’t I be more effective if I wasn’t tied to a chair? Why don’t you let me out of these things and we can have a real party.”

Rey’s mind cycles through so many emotions that it’s hard to interpret just what she’s feeling, but her sense of self-preservation screams the loudest.

“No...NO! That’s not….I want to use your body as a _receptacle_ for the Force ghost of my dead lover!” she exclaims, voice raised.

But now that the words hang heavily in the air between them, Rey realizes not only did she speak before she fully registered what she was doing, but that maybe she’s actually the crazy one here. Matt squints at her like that could certainly be the case, but then she sees a look of determination spread over his face. Brash, foolish determination.

“Right...okay. So, I’m your dead lover,” Matt repeats like he’s speaking to a deranged Ewok. He clearly thinks she’s nuts, but also seems strangely willing to overlook it. “Whatever gets your calcinator going. Just get these cuffs off me, okay, and we can get started.” 

Mortification threatens to drown her, but more importantly, she realizes that this is the closest she’ll likely get to gaining his consent. He doesn’t think what she’s planned is possible, and rather than try to convince him, she might as well just get on with it. Besides, she could always alter his memories afterwards. Dwelling too long on what he thought of her sanity was pointless at this stage.

“Alright,” Rey says, when she’s finally able to marshal her features, hiding her discomfiture. “But first...I need you to wear something for me.” She walks over to her discarded handbag slumped against the wall and plucks the two previously stowed objects from its shallow depths. 

“Jewelry?” Matt questions dubiously as she approaches him with a red and gold medallion. Sith colors, but he doesn’t know that. 

“Yes,” Rey improvises. “Something to, um, put us in the mood.” She slips the amulet over his head and beneath the open collar of his jumpsuit, inwardly wincing at the eager look in his eyes when her fingers brush his bare skin. The broad, hairless chest reminds her so strongly of Kylo that when she steps back she immediately scans the room for her soulmate’s presence.

There, standing in the corner of the room, is the dead lover in question, staring balefully at the other man strapped down to the chair. His obvious anger is shocking; as a living, breathing person, Kylo Ren’s anger had run potent and deep with the right stimuli, but as a Force ghost the most extreme emotion from him that she’d witnessed had been solemn sadness. Distracted, Rey nearly misses the question lobbed at her.

“Uh...Roxy? You okay there?” She starts visibly, but turns back to see a hint of apprehension beginning to grow in Matt’s eyes. He looks like he’s starting to second-guess this arrangement, so she quickly gets back to the task at hand. 

“Sorry,” she says, backing away from him, unfurling her fingers from around the other object in her possession. In her palm, a ring of crimson and gold glimmers, so similar to the other objects that an uninformed party might suspect that they were created by the same craftsman. Though they are all artifacts of a bygone age, fabricated through the forbidden arts of the now defunct Sith order, she knows based on her readings that all three were crafted at different times by different people. She slips the ring onto her middle finger, where the Force runs the strongest according to the Sith texts. The Ring of Disillusion was meant to reveal the true essence of whatever its wearer focused on.

Had the Jedi Council known of the existence of these particular artifacts, she has no doubt they would have destroyed the dangerous items or any mention of them. But that is extremely unlikely, given that the only breadcrumbs available to follow were secreted away in a subterranean holocron vault beneath a once-lost Jedi temple. Fortunately for her, her former Jedi Master had chosen to become a hermit on the very planet that housed this Jedi temple. 

Four years later, and she now stands before the final object that her painstaking research had uncovered, its geometric design resting in the uneven hole she’d hewn into the wall. 

“There’s just one more thing,” Rey tells Matt as she positions herself across the room. He looks at her hesitantly, and she knows that what comes next is likely to deepen his discomfort, but she turns her back to him anyway. “Just a little prayer of sorts. Won’t take long.” She approaches the angular relic and places her hand against the cold hardness of the gem set in its front panel. “You shouldn’t feel a thing,” she adds distractedly. 

“What?” Matt inquires behind her, then she hears him mutter under his breath, “Why are the cute ones always crazy?”

Rey clenches her jaw but ignores him, recalling the strange, foreign words that she’s memorized and practiced a thousand times. Being a student of language helped her learn the proper citations, but the syllables and sounds are still alien on her tongue. She begins, pushing a steady stream of Force into the gem beneath her hand and calling out the first line of the ancient summoning of the dead.

At first, it feels as if she’s pushing Force energy into thin air. There’s a faint feeling of loss, like she’s bleeding from a shallow cut, but nothing that indicates that the ritual is working. She won’t let the seeds of doubt and frustration take root though, so she gathers her force of will to sound the words into the air clear and true. Guttural at times, lyrical at others, her voice picks up strength until she’s virtually shouting in the small room. In the back of her mind she registers noise behind her, the staccato rhythm of metal clinking against metal and the heavy thud of something caught in between. Bonds against a metal chair and a body jerking against the chair back. Matt. Something is happening to him.

She doesn’t stop chanting nor does she turn around, though she is dying to see what might be happening over her shoulder. Eventually, a draining, sucking sensation spreads up her arm and she feels the Force being pulled from her body and into the object. The red gem begins to glow, muted at first but gaining brilliance with every line she recites, until finally it lights up the room in a glittering blaze. It reaches a blinding zenith, followed by a flash as bright and terrible as a supernova, and a heat so great that it singes Rey’s palm. She abruptly stops chanting to rip her hand away and clutch at the pain, clenching her eyes shut. As she does, the light immediately snuffs itself out as if it had never been, throwing the room back into darkness. 

She’s momentarily blinded by the radiant display, but as her vision slowly starts to creep back, she can again discern moonlit shadows stretching across the cottage floor. The rhythmic sounds she’d heard in unison with her chanting have stopped, and now all she can hear are heavy, male breaths bellowing in and out of fatigued lungs. 

Rey closes her eyes, doing her best to keep her wits about her. This was the moment of truth, when she would find out if the years of tireless obsession, alienation, and blind hope would all be for naught. She wants to turn around with every fiber of her being, but she also knows that there’s a chance the end result could break her. Utterly. But she doesn’t have to wait long to discover her fate.

“Rey?” she hears a deep, throaty, achingly familiar voice say behind her, and her eyes briefly close as elation soars within her. She draws in an uneven breath and turns around to face the man shackled to the chair.

The bright shock of blond hair is almost bewildering, but then she remembers. Quickly, she squeezes her eyes shut again and channels Force energy into the red and gold ring encircling her middle finger. There’s a slight burning in her eyes and the afterimage of the prior light show, but once it subsides she opens them again and ventures another look.

His raven-dark hair is falling into his eyes, a striking contrast to the cool paleness of his complexion. In life, he had often remarked that he was the moon trailing after her sun, and though she has lost the sun-kissed warmth of healthier days, his alabaster skin is still so many shades lighter than her own. The only interruption to that smooth paleness is the coral-colored scar bisecting the middle of his face. It hadn’t detracted from his stoic beauty then, and certainly not now, especially paired with the burning dark gaze he is practically blistering her with. 

“...Kylo?” she queries hesitantly, taking a small, cautious step in his direction.

“Rey...” Kylo says again, this time punctuated by a harsh jerk of the flexisteel bonds. When he realizes they aren’t budging, she feels a disturbance of Force in the air, right before she hears a harsh snap of metal rending itself apart. 

To her surprise--and horror--the shackles she’d paid an exorbitant amount of credits for fall uselessly to the ground around him. He stands, making the metal chair appear miniscule beneath his towering height, and rolls his shoulders to rid himself of stiffness. His eyes haven’t left hers, and when he takes a step forward, her immediate response is to take a step back. This is all happening too fast; the precautions she’d taken, the ones that were supposed to ensure her safety in case something went wrong with the ritual, have been decimated with one tiny flex of his power. 

“Don’t be afraid, Rey.” He says it gently, like he’s trying not to spook a wild animal, but the look in his eyes is hot and predatory. Hungry. She feels almost foolish for the way her body instinctively reacts to it, but she also doesn’t entirely trust it. The Kylo of the past had been passionate, surprisingly so, but how would she know if something had gone wrong with the ritual? How would she know if something malignant and Dark had seeped in to taint his spirit? When he wrapped his hands around her throat and squeezed?

She takes another step back, mentally calculating how long it would take to dash over to her handbag for her lightsaber. If she could even make it in time. 

“Huh,” she remarks more casually than she feels, every muscle in her body poised to burst into responsive action. “Now, where have I heard that before?”

The left corner of Kylo’s mouth lifts up, and she’s so mesmerized by it and the nostalgia it engenders that she doesn’t notice the next step he takes in her direction. Or the next one.

“Please, don’t run from me. I’m dying to touch you.” She sees his fingers clench and release at his side. A tell, one she knows well from their sparing days. She takes another swift step backwards...and unexpectedly hits the wall. 

He predictably shoots forward like a sandviper, large hands tightening around her biceps before she can even draw a breath to protest, before the thought even occurs to her to use the Force to protect herself. His face, handsome and corporeal, is but a hairsbreadth away and every detail is in high definition this close. The familiar scent of him surrounds her, and despite her fear she feels it weakening her resolve to remain wary. She stares up at him, trapped in his gaze. 

“Please, Rey. I just need to…” He drops his forehead to hers, and her resolve completely crumbles away. The feeling of his skin against hers sparks through her, sparks through them both if the way he shudders at the contact is any indication. The cottage could collapse in on them at this point, and she feels certain that she still wouldn’t have been able to tear her eyes away. Warmth. Love. Acceptance. Emotions she had once thought lost to her. A version of them had existed in her ghostly companion, but they had always been marred by the inevitable sadness that still seemed to grip them both.

Not so now that he is here in the flesh. Sadness gives way to wonder, regret transforms into longing, and commiseration becomes sultry, carnal heat. Rey’s hand raises of its own volition to tentatively touch fingers to his jaw, and a sound of yearning slips out of her when his cheek rubs a tender response against her palm. She savors it, bringing her other hand up to cup the opposite side of his face, framing his features so that her mind absorbs every plane, ridge, and hollow. 

“I’m here, Rey. I’m right here,” he breathes out, drawing his face even closer. Rey’s eyes lower to his parted lips, their memory a lurid fantasy that has driven her to keep focus these long and lonely years. But more than anything, she has wanted to talk to him, and hear his voice in return. She tries to pull herself away, aware that every spare curve she possesses is still pressed flush against him. 

“There’s so much I want to say, to ask,” she insists, even as he moves to close the minute distance she puts between them. So many questions. 

“After,” Kylo replies, his gaze also concentrated on her own mouth. She feels his hands sliding from her arms to her torso, feeling for an opening in the wrapped material of her dress. It’s slow though, almost hesitant, and she realizes that he’s asking her for permission. All these moments of intimacy between them, a ritual that would effectively cause Luke to sever ties with her completely had he known her intentions, years of mourning and grief...and still he wonders if she truly wants him now. Her soulmate is sometimes so incredibly and adorably daft.

A heartbeat of silence passes after Rey’s nod of assent, then Kylo seals his mouth against hers in a searing kiss, like an unstoppable force of nature. Rey feels the sensual pulse reverberate all the way down to her bones, down to the very core of her soul. It feels like home.  
  


* * *

  
  
They’re reclining on a bed surrounded by furniture. When Rey cleared out the main room’s decorations to make way for the ritual, she hadn’t even considered the possibility of making use of the bedroom; she’d been far too concerned with the preparation--and the underlying fear of failure--to think of anything else. The covers have been kicked to the far end of the bed, anathema to anyone who felt even a fraction of the humidity stifling the planet. 

The bed is too short for Kylo’s height, but she knows he is used to being disappointed in that regard. He is propped up against the wall behind the bed, one arm tucked behind his head and the other wrapped around her torso, fingers stroking her hip in an aimless pattern. The skin beneath his hand is hot, as well as the long line of flesh pressed against his side, but she would rather jump into a rathtar pit than speak a word about it. There are other things to discuss.

“So, what does a Force ghost do when he’s not appearing to people?”

“Pretty much what you’d imagine,” Kylo responds, his fingers stilling on her skin. “Watch. And rest. Manifesting is tiring.”

“Really? I thought you had infinite Force to draw from,” Rey muses, a small frown creasing her brow.

She feels his chest hitch in a light snort. “Hardly. It takes everything in me to appear to you some days. It depends on where you are though, and how strong the Force resonates in a particular location.”

“Okay, so it’s easier for you on particular planets. I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

Her shoulder lifts with the strength of his sigh. “Actually, we need to talk about that.” It’s the sadness in his voice that makes her maneuver her body so that she’s laying on her stomach and able to see his face. 

“What is it?” she asks with an edge of apprehension, immediately worried when she sees his expression.

He takes his time, choosing his words carefully. “This ritual...it’s draining. Force ghosts don’t have unlimited reserves of Force energy. In fact, we have a very limited amount. My understanding of it is vague because it’s not like we get a manual or something when we die. We know things...but we gain more knowledge from watching the living. Some choose their appearances deliberately, so that they aren’t wasting energy. I was a little more reckless with it I think. I’ve never read about any Force ghost in the Jedi texts who appeared as much as I did.”

“What are you saying? That you’ve been using up your Force energy all this time just to see me?” She recognizes that her voice is becoming a little shrill, but she’s suddenly so angry at him for sacrificing himself in this way. “Why would you do this if it means you are literally killing yourself with every appearance?”

He shifts beneath her, and then she finds herself caged by the long limbs of his body as he holds himself prostrate over her naked body. He’s looking down at her with that reverent dark gaze, so close to the desperate look he used to give her when he’d been trying to convince her to join him. Before he abandoned the Dark side for good. 

“Rey, nothing else matters,” he says fervently, brushing a stray wisp of hair away from her face. “I chose to deny my return to the Force because I wanted to be with you. I didn’t care how. I couldn’t just leave you to go on alone, not if I could help it. But I think my Force energy was significantly diminished by the reliquary. That gem drew power from both of us to allow me to possess this body.” 

“What does this mean then? Did I…” her voice cracks as the realization hits her. “Are you telling me that by doing this ritual, you won’t be able to appear anymore? That I might have…” she can’t complete the sentence, it’s just too devastating. 

“I likely won’t be able to manifest, no, but I’ll still be here. I’ll still be watching.” He leans forward, and the slow, defeated way he kisses her forehead causes her chest to tighten. “You can still speak to me, and I’ll still hear every word.”

“That’s why you were so against me doing this,” Rey whispers. “I should have read the signs better. Nothing in the Sith texts said anything about using up your Force energy.”

Kylo returns to reclining against the wall, but his hand finds hers. “The Sith really don’t care about what happens to another being, so I doubt it was even a factor for them. But I don’t regret this, Rey.”

“I was so selfish to do this. I didn’t think--” Kylo’s hands reach beneath her arms to slide her up along his body, until her face is close enough to kiss. And kiss her he does, until she’s breathless. 

“It’s all worth it,” he murmurs into her ear when he flips them over, “just to touch you again.” 

He aims to prove it by making her gasp again and again, reiterating his love through every caress, whisper, and thrust of his body. She believes him.  
  


* * *

  
  
She dreams of Kylo’s funeral. 

Rey sees herself on a quiet hilltop, standing amongst a small half circle of attendees, her face an emotionless mask. It’s a quiet affair with a humble turnout, as there are so few people in the galaxy who truly mourn Kylo Ren’s passing. 

A massive tree presides over the entire space with low-hanging branches and amber leaves, throwing shade on the funeral-goers dressed in various shades of dark. She knows them all: Luke, Leia, Finn, Poe, as well as Phasma, newly defected from the ranks of the First Order. Her dream-self is standing between Leia and Finn, staring blankly ahead, trapped in her own grief but unable to show it. She had done her best to appear stoic, but from this perspective, she can see the small details that betray her; a fine tremor in her hands, the mussed appearance of her hair, the slump of her slim shoulders. She looks so obviously shattered that only a fool would think her unaffected. 

“He loved this place as a boy,” Leia had told her when they ascended the hill to greet their master of ceremony. Rey hadn’t had the heart to tell the General that Kylo had spoken of this place before, and it had only been significant to him as an escape from the lonely senate apartments while Leia was away. 

There is still so much that Leia doesn’t know about her son, but Rey suspects that Leia would prefer to keep her illusions. It was one of the reasons why, even after his defection, Kylo decided to keep his distance from his estranged parent. His mother blamed Snoke entirely for every misstep Kylo had made in life, but dwelling on the circumstances that led him there didn’t seem to have any influence on her thinking. Leia didn’t fully understand Kylo’s feelings of abandonment, or the resentment he carried until the fateful day of his death, but Rey had felt it, had seen memories of a young Kylo suffering under it through their shared Force bond. Leia’s Force-sensitive child had been crying out for help long before Snoke ever got to him, but to the General, there hadn’t been any option aside from removing the evil influence. 

“You’re right,” Kylo says from beside her, and Rey blinks at his sudden appearance in her dream. “She deeply regrets what happened, but freeing the galaxy from tyranny had always been the more important objective. My father knew it, too.” 

It was a rare thing, even after years of being together, for Kylo to mention Han. They had discussed many things, but he always shut down the moment she brought him up in conversation. One of many self-inflicted wounds that he had never been able to heal in life.

“You see things differently, once you’re dead,” he says in response to her unspoken thoughts. “I know his true heart, now. And I forgive him, just as I know he forgave me.”

The scene before them is playing out regardless of their attention, and Rey hears Luke recite the lines of the Jedi code over the gentle rustle of leaves, but she turns to look at Kylo curiously. “You can hear my thoughts, but I can’t hear yours. Why is that?”

Kylo shrugs and gestures at himself. “Force ghost, remember?” They both return their gazes in time to witness Luke say a few heartfelt, quietly spoken words about the nephew he knew, the struggle Kylo faced like every Skywalker before him, and his joy that Kylo had finally found his path before he returned to the Force. 

“Did you ever appear to him?” Rey asks once Luke finishes, watching dream-Leia step forward with a neatly folded bundle of brown and cream. Kylo’s old Jedi training uniform, when he’d gone by the name Ben. 

“No,” Kylo responds as the other Rey steps forward to join Leia with her own bundle. Kylo’s civilian clothing. Together, they lay both sets of clothing down on an empty stone braizer that Luke constructed by hand prior to their arrival. “He has enough ghosts in his life as it is.”

“Goodbye, Ben,” Luke’s gruff voice says, reaching forward to light the braizer with a piece of kindling wood. “We shall meet again.” As the flames lick over the fabric, consuming the clothing with elemental greed, she sees Leia turn her face into Poe’s shoulder, attempting to hide her silent tears. Rey watches the flames, and though the memories are vague, she remembers that Finn eventually came for her later that evening, worried that she might catch cold as she sat on the grass and gazed into the gray ash.

“The time for grief is over, Rey,” Kylo says as he slips his hand in hers, breaking her concentration. She isn’t sure how it’s possible in a dream, but his hand feels warm and solid in her grip.

But his words inspire panic. “How am I supposed to do this?” she implores, lacing her fingers tightly with his as if they could be snatched away at any moment. “Seeing you again was the only thing giving me purpose, and now--”

“You’ll manage,” he insists, pulling her closer. “There’s more to come for Rey of Jakku.”

Even though he sounds confident of that fact, her tone is still desperate. “How can you be so certain?” The funeral goers are departing the hilltop, but her dream-self predictably lingers.

Kylo gives her that artless, crooked smile that never failed to speed up her heart rate on the rare occasions he revealed it. “Force ghost, remember?” he repeats. He leans down to kiss her, and the colors blur around them, swirling into oblivion.  
  


* * *

  
  
When the time comes, Kylo helps her dress. His clothing is less complicated, as they both learned earlier that evening that Matt the radar technician didn’t bother with underwear. He stands at the open window now, light from her portable glowlamp illuminating Matt’s green jumpsuit and bright orange gear vest in stark relief. He regards her solemnly. The moon has long since disappeared from the night sky, and the gradients of coming dawn have begun to creep upward into the fading darkness.

“We should do this now, before it wears off.”

Rey shakes her head, a pleading look in her eyes. “I don’t want to waste a moment.”

“It will be less traumatic this way,” Kylo tells her as he crosses the room to stand before her. He tucks a lock of her unbound hair behind her ear, dragging his fingers along her jaw. “We can say our goodbyes on our own terms. It’s nearly dawn, and you know as I do that the amulet only tethers my spirit to this body at the peak of a lunar cycle. As soon as the sun rises, the tether breaks.” 

“I know…I just...” Tears track down her face, the first in many years, and her head bows. “This is the last time I’ll see you.”

The sadness in his eyes is back, but he grasps her chin firmly between his fingers, prompting her to focus on him. 

“Rey, I read something a long time ago in a Jedi holocron that might....well, it may be just a story. But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that all the Jedi fables are rooted in some small sliver of truth.”

She sniffles, waiting for him to continue.

“There isn’t much written about Force-bonded pairs because the occurrence is so very rare, but there’s an account of a female Jedi who claimed to see the Force ghost of her dead lover the same day she died in battle. She recounted to her companions that she had only seen her lover one other time before, on the day he was killed.” 

“You think--” she starts.

“I know it’s not any sort of guarantee, but it’s something. Maybe the Force will grant us that one last moment. As you said, it seems to want us together, or this never would have worked.” 

Her vision is blurring and her throat seems swollen shut with emotion, so she simply nods.

“This is what I’ve longed for these past few years. The chance to say goodbye. I might not have approved of your choice in subjects,” and here he grimaces, ”but it’s obvious that his...suitability was hard to ignore. Clearly my father’s charm extended to the far reaches of the galaxy.”

A small snort bursts out in response, completely inappropriate for the moment, but Kylo smiles at her.

“I love you, Rey. More than life. More than finding peace in the Force. I’ll only go when you can join me.”

Her chest hitches with a sob, but she manages to hold it in. She presses forward and crashes her mouth against his, kissing him desperately. 

Pulling herself from him is agony, and every step away from him feels like a saber thrust into her heart. She plans to abandon the amulet, positive that it’s origin and purposes will remain a mystery to anyone who happens to come across it. Maybe Matt will sell it. The reliquary was packed haphazardly in her rucksack; she is no longer concerned about any damage that it might incur now that the ritual is complete.

As she reaches the threshold of the cottage door, she turns back one last time. He’s still her Kylo, his dark hair falling forward over one eye, watching her with a dark-eyed intensity. Once she removes the ring on her middle finger, any illusion maintained through the ritual will dissipate, if not already broken by the rising sun. 

She can hear the birds chirping loudly for the dawn, and she meets Kylo’s gaze one final time. He dips his head in farewell, and her vision blurs as she forces herself to turn away and close the door behind her. 

On her way to the docking port where her ship awaits, the sun crests over the horizon, and the sob that she had so valiantly held in, escapes.  
  


* * *

  
  
She sits up too fast and her bones creak. 

The unique way that the Force sharpened instinct, quickened reactions, and prolonged her endurance had been fading for years. The older she got, the more the disparity became apparent. 

She plants feet on the stone floor and stretches her arms upwards, rising once again to greet the day. She can feel every year of her existence in the tightness of her shoulders and the throbbing ache in her bones. She should probably take her daily calisthenics more seriously, but since passing the mantle of instruction on to her daughter, she finds that her motivation to keep up with the younglings has gradually waned.

Without signal or warning, her bedroom door slides open with a mechanical hiss. 

“Good morning, Grandma!” a small voice cries out with a peal of laughter as an equally small body barrels into the room with the speed of a swamp-hare. Rey opens her arms and receives the precious bundle of youthful energy that throws itself into her grasp, hugging her fiercely. She’s woken up to this pleasant intrusion more than enough times in the past, and she would never discourage it.

“And good morning to you, my little starlight. Have you eaten breakfast already?” 

Her granddaughter nods her head vigorously, but refuses to unlatch herself from around Rey’s middle. Rey affectionately smooths down the fine blond halo of hair curling about the child’s ears. 

“Where is your mother?”

A snort sounds from beneath her arms, and then the little girl pulls back to present an adorable look of disgust, complete with downturned mouth and wrinkled nose. “She’s making kissy noises with Daddy in the ‘fresher. Eww,” she says with a level of repugnance that only a child could impart. 

Rey chuckles in response, still infinitely grateful that her daughter had found her match in a dark-haired man who appeared to be forever caught in her orbit. “You’ll understand when you’re older, Leila.”

There’s a frantic shake of a head, tossing little blond curls everywhere. “Nope. Never. I don’t want to make kissy noises. I want to be like you, Grandma.” Rey still manages to smile down at the earnest declaration, but she also feels the truth of those words squeeze her heart like a soft fist. But there is also opportunity here.

“Just promise me one thing, starlight,” she says quietly, and when she’s sure that she has the rapt attention of her little devotee, Rey discloses her wisdom. “Don’t ever turn your back on love. We changed that Jedi rule for a reason. Love makes you stronger. Always. Never forget that.” 

Leila stares up at her with a dubious expression, but then it melts away as she clearly decides to take Rey’s words to heart. “Okay, Grandma. But I still don’t want to make kissy noises.”

It prompts a genuine laugh from Rey, and an affectionate kiss to the child’s forehead. “Well, that will always and forever be up to you. Now, why don’t you go say good morning to Uncle Poe in the hangar and let Grandma get ready for the day. Tell him to make sure my ship is topped off. I have a trip planned today.”

“Where are you going?”

Rey stands, ushering her granddaughter to the door. “There have been reports of a Force-sensitive child on a remote planet that I want to investigate. I shouldn’t be gone for more than a few days.” 

“I’ll miss you,” Leila says sadly, accompanied by another hug. 

“And I’ll miss you,” Rey responds, “but I’m always with you in here.” She taps two fingers to Leila’s chest, directly over her heart, and smiles. 

Her granddaughter leaves her to her daily ablutions, putting on a burst of speed as she heeds her grandmother’s advice and turns toward the ship hangars. Rey considers that if Leila ever happens to love as fiercely as she already lives, whomever she ends up with is in for quite the whirlwind. Exactly as it should be. 

It’s as Rey turns away from the door that she feels a tremor race up her spine, stunning her to stillness. She hasn’t felt that sensation since...not in a very long time. A dark, lonely, heartrending time when she’d had no view into the future beyond her own misery. 

She feels the tremor again, like a summons, and steels herself to turn toward its source. 

The blue iridescence surrounding his form is cool and familiar, like moonlight in a dream long forgotten. From the sable hair to the long pale face, to the broad shoulders framing an impressive form, his ghost looks like a carbonite copy of her memory. But when he smiles at her, as close to beaming as she’s ever seen him, it’s as if the tumultuous sadness of his youth and the pains and follies of adulthood had never been. He’s beautiful, in a way that she’s never seen him before. Carefree and truly joyous.

It takes her a moment, a quick, dizzying calculation of her experiences; first steps and volatile teenage emotions, warm hugs and strong maternal pride, steadfast friends and clear, veracious purpose. It was enough. In so many ways, this life had been enough. She feels it like the dawn breaking through the clouds, a warmth spreading through her cheeks and suffusing her soul. 

And she smiles back.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you everyone who gave me advice, read various versions of this, and virtually held my hand in e-support...I would have never finished this without you, I'm serious. 
> 
> Minor inspiration obtained from the movie "Ghost" (omg Matt is Whoopi Goldberg??), and in case you missed it, Funeral was the celebration I chose for this anthology. As always, please let me know what you think! Annnnd if you are in shock that I didn't use this opportunity to write a full-on smut scene...well, so am I! Lol. But if enough people want it, I might write a little companion piece detailing what happened after the fade-to-black moment...just let me know. ^_^ Thanks so much for giving this a chance!
> 
> P.S. I realized I was too subtle with one detail (too late now, the Anthology is published!). Rey's granddaughter is blond....like Rey's daughter...like a certain Radar Technician Rey may have hooked up with one night whilst communing with her dead lover. Just wanted to make that clearer since I didn't make it obvious. OTP ALL THE WAY.


End file.
